by Abi Ketner
Only sinners grind away, doing the cleaning, bidding, and serving. They’re transported out of the Hole by train to work each day, but High Society members are too afraid to associate with them, even if they once knew each other. Even commoners, those who aren’t sinners or High Society, refuse to acknowledge them. Instantly, they become strangers.
The guards prove the exception and do whatever they please. They make the arrests, enforce their laws, and even dictate education. High Society is oblivious to the real gritty stuff, though my father was aware of it. I once heard him whispering to a friend about it over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. His hushed words come back like a nightmare now. If only I could remember everything I heard that day.
“There’s been word of mass rapes and beatings outside of here,” his friend said. “Keep your children on a tight rope. It’s not safe.”
“I know. It’s getting worse by the day. Yet somehow, they manage to cover up most of it. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the full magnitude,” my father replied. I remember peering around the corner from the staircase to listen and pinching my nose to hold back a sneeze.
“I’m hearing rumors of lab testing too”
“Shhh, that’s enough. We need to take this conversation somewhere else.” Their chairs scraped on the tile floor, so I tiptoed up the staircase before they spotted me.
I always took for granted that my father would be there to protect me. Now, I’m seated in a Jeep with the enemy he tried so hard to shield me from.
Cole keeps his eyes on the road and rubs the back of his neck. He joins a procession of vehicles from the transformation center, escorting new prisoners to the Hole. Roadblocks occur every few miles and he flashes his identification each time. I’m scared to look at him, yet I find myself glancing in his direction more often than I’d like. His sharp jawline and intense expression never falter as he grips the steering wheel. It’s as if he’s expecting trouble ahead. I don’t know why, but his close proximity makes me self-conscious.
Part of me desires strength to deal with my present situation; the other half wants to collapse from mental overload and exhaustion. I give in to the latter.
I close my eyes and daydream. I bring myself back to my father, to the tall grass fields out west, to times of love and laughter, and in my dream I’m okay.
“Wake up!” my father says, but I realize it isn’t his voice. A hand shakes me awake, and I open my eyes as Cole turns in his seat.
Holy crap. I did fall asleep.
“We’re here,” he says. “You’re likely the first sinner to ever fall asleep during the transport.”
“I wasn’t actually sleeping, more like daydreaming with my eyes closed.” I lie because I don’t want him to know the truth. When I feel overwhelmed, I tend to fall asleep, as if my mind is trying to keep me from exploding.
I shake my head and rub my bleary eyes. Before me looms a twenty-foot cement wall ominously rising from the earth. Barbed wire wraps around the top like a snake. There’s no green, just a thick cloud of dust kicked up from the tires of passing vehicles. A colossal protrusion from the wall grabs my attention.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the immense structure.
“That… is none of your concern,” he says, stopping the Jeep. We’re at another checkpoint, and Cole flashes his ID. A young guard standing at the gate inspects it and then looks at me. He grins.
“She new?” he says with a smirk. “Damn, man. Why can’t I have your job?”
“Yeah, she’s new,” Cole snaps.
“Your best yet.” He winks at Cole and then looks at me. “Good luck, sweetheart. You’ll need it.” He opens the massive metal gate, and we follow the others through. It closes with a screech, a thud, and a distinct locking sound.
Cole parks the Jeep in an open space alongside other vehicles carrying newly branded sinners.
“One more stop before you see your new home,” he says. “Orientation.”
I climb down and my joints crack, feeling achy from sitting so long. My neck radiates with burning heat from the brand that permanently labels me a whore. I drop my eyes to the dusty ground, feeling ashamed even though I know it’s not true. But they think it is.
He gives me a quick shove in the direction of the door where I see others with bowed heads and new brands brightly singed into their skin. I imagine that we look like one sad convoy of losers filing into a small, dirty room. The fluorescent lighting flickers and there’s standing room only. Cole leans against the wall with the other guards, observing us carefully, while we squeeze into the room like cattle.
A large screen mounted on the wall in front flips on automatically as the lights go out. A female voice, powerful yet sweet, begins giving the history of the Hole.
“Fifty years ago, after World War V, society was downtrodden from years of fighting. Bombs destroyed highly populated areas, leaving the former United States with high crime, unemployment, and depravity.” Black-and-white images of the last war pop onto the screen—people running as explosions burst in the background. Children screaming. Bodies lying unattended in the streets of war-torn neighborhoods that once flourished. “Then our Commander, our Savior, and our Leader came to power.” The screen flips to a photo of the Commander, wearing a black mask to protect his identity. “After witnessing decades of crime, he saved us from our sins—revamping our judicial system and creating jobs for all. Bringing peace and security to our country once again.”
More like demolished our judicial system, I think. I barely remember my father talking about the war before the Commander. Most of my recollections are of my father cautioning me on being careful about what I say to others to avoid being accused.
Rough footage of the Hole being built by sinners pops onto the screen and breaks into my thoughts. “He created a system by which we would know, forevermore, who the criminals in society are, thereby protecting us from their crimes. By keeping all the criminals confined to the Hole, our society would remain pure and uncorrupted.”
To my surprise, the video shows a state funeral with mourners dressed in dark clothing, parading through High Society. “After our dear Commander passed, his protégé, handpicked and trained, rose up to carry on our beloved traditions. We owe him our allegiance, our thanks, and our praise for saving us.”
The propaganda video ends as static charges across the screen. Not a word is said among all of us while we wait. The guards straighten up as the lights come back on, dimly flickering as one guard stands in front of the room. He barely glances at us as he reads from a paper in his hands.
“You’re all here because you’ve been accused of crimes and branded as criminals of the state. The Commander is the ultimate power over all. From here on, you have no rights. Each sinner will be assigned a job upon arriving to your quarters and you will report to your jobs daily as commanded. The siren is your warning to report immediately to your bus. Buses will transport you to the trains at the main gate. Do not miss your bus unless you’re dead. You will obey all laws in the Hole. There is a hospital, but you may only seek treatment for your health if approved by a guard or if it is detrimental to the health of the guards. One guard will escort you to your new quarters and most of you,” he says while glancing at me briefly, “will be on your own afterward. No questions allowed.”
Fear catches in my throat. I’m no longer considered human.
My guard, Cole, pulls my elbow and leads me out of the dingy room into the hot bright light. He practically shoves me into my seat before sliding into his. I squint my eyes and bring my hand up over them as they adjust.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for what lies ahead. Along the main road, people sit in squalor, begging as each vehicle passes. Eyes mixed with hopelessness and despair meet mine. Children run in dirty, tattered clothing, chasing each other while women yell at them to go inside. Two men beat a woman in the shadows of a side street while guards stand watch with their hands in their pockets. Why aren’t they stopping it?
The smell of sewage pierces my senses as dirt swirls in the air. The landscape never deviates the farther we travel. One block, two blocks, three blocks pass as the immensity of the Hole begins to choke me. Terror creeps into my chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.
“Hang on,” Cole says, tapping the roll bar. “If you fall out, they’ll kill you.”
I give him a questioning look but obey out of fear. The roads narrow, and gradually, crowds of people spill out from every crevice available. They rush the vehicles in the convoy, begging for food, water, and anything of worth to trade. Someone grabs my arm, screaming into my face.
“Slut!” Her fingers tear at my hair, my clothes, and my body. I grab her wrists and send her backward into the fray.
“I bet she didn’t see that one coming,” Cole says.
“I want you!” a man shouts. “Come here!” He clings to the back of the Jeep.
The crush of people suffocates me, and I frantically fight off their hands. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me,” I yell before shoving a scrawny man off my leg. The massive crowd slows our speed until we’re almost at a complete stop.
“Grab her!” someone shouts.
“She’s mine!” a dirty-faced man with multiple tattoos bellows and clambers onto the bumper. I stand, holding on to the roll bar, and kick him in the chest, knocking him off the Jeep into the swarm of dingy colors surrounding us. They grab my ankles, scraping my skin, and start pulling me off.
Cole slams the Jeep in park, stands up with his gun in hand, and indiscriminately fires at them to scare them off. Splashes of red explode across my vision, but everything within me fights to stay on the vehicle. I wipe off my face with my sleeve, look down, and see chunks of flesh hanging on my arm.
“Ahhhhhhh,” I shriek. “Get it off me.” I wave my arms wildly but can’t dislodge them all.
I grab the bar again, but my hands and arms drip with sweat. I’m slipping. “I can’t hold on much longer!”
He clenches his jaw and grabs on to my shirt. Like that’ll help. Just then, all hell erupts as multiple guns open fire. Bullets ricochet off the walls to our left and right, chipping them and sending people for cover. The guards on the rooftops fire without restraint. Screams and shouts echo throughout the street, and bloodied bodies lie alongside our Jeep.
“Get down,” Cole orders. I drop to the floor and cover my head with my arms, shaking uncontrollably with fright. All the while, Cole doesn’t flinch. He sits back in his driver’s seat and steps on the accelerator, rolling over the dead people in the street. The crunching of bones and constant thumping of the vehicle over their bodies turns my stomach and the acid burns my throat.
“Don’t move,” he says. “We’re almost there.”
In my shocked state, I follow his orders without question. My hands tremble from adrenaline and my throat stings from screaming. I feel their grimy handprints all over me. Their miserable, desperate faces encroach upon my thoughts as I relive the horror of their hatred.
They think I’m just a whore… not a real person.
Turning into a side garage, Cole turns off the engine, but I’m too traumatized to get out when he opens the door. Instead, I lean over and throw up. He steps back before I splatter his boots and waits for me to finish before dragging me out.
“Follow me. Don’t run and no talking,” he orders. The sour taste in my mouth and shear disgust paralyzes my vocal cords, so I nod in reply.
Then I puke again.
I move one foot in front of the other, slogging along. My feet feel like weights attached to my ankles. I just want to break down and cry, but now is obviously not the time, and there are too many things to cry about. I wouldn’t know where to start.
Not too long ago I wanted to end my life… and now I’m fighting to survive. Why? Maybe it’s pride. Purple and blue would go well together. Then it hits me.
“Because this wasn’t my choice,” I say out loud.
Cole whips his head around. “I told you not to talk.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Shut up!”
So I do.
Graffiti marks the walls of the garage with words I wouldn’t dare say at home. The bold colors stand out, stark against the muted gray everywhere else.
Clouds of dust follow each step and I hop to avoid the broken glass strewn along the street because with one misstep, the glass would go right through my shoe and pierce my foot. Tall, worn-down buildings made of cement blocks line every road. Cole checks on my progress, only to move faster. He shows no signs of pity or emotion about having to shoot those people earlier. And yet, he’s not outright mean to me, either. I have no doubt what some other guards would’ve done in his situation. Just the thought makes me swallow hard around the lump in my throat.
We come to an intersection. I turn my head to the right, and men with no shirts lick me up and down with their eyes like I’m a fillet, ready to eat. To my left, brightly painted and scantily clad women summon Cole. They clap as I walk past.
“What diseases do you have?” they ask me. I ignore them, keeping my eyes forward. “How many have you screwed?” The women sneer. They laugh at my obvious discomfort.
I trip over an empty bottle, but Cole grabs me before I fall. His touch refocuses me.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says while glancing at me. “Look straight ahead and don’t pay attention to them.”
I wish I could be so confident.
A massive building with a clean façade appears through the dusty cloud in front of us. It towers over the other buildings, making it an easy landmark. Vehicles pull through a checkpoint in the back. Small groups of people loiter outside, smoking and talking. It’s almost normal, except for the armed men in black mounted on the rooftops.
“That’s the hospital. Where you’ll be working,” Cole says. “All citizens of the Hole are required to work. I’ll escort you there and back. You can’t miss a day of work unless you’re on your deathbed, understood?” He glares at me.
“Yes. I understand,” I whisper.
We walk for what feels like an eternity and my feet throb. I’m not sure I can make it much farther. Stupid slippers. What I’d give to have my sneakers back. I gaze upward, and the bright azure sky makes a striking comparison to life below. I didn’t know conditions like this existed.
“See the building over there?” he says as he runs his hand over his head to wipe away the sweat. “That’s your new home.”
He opens a door in a fence interlaced with barbed wire. People lounge around outside, staring as he leads me in. The citizens outside the building look fairly normal despite their brandings, but I’m still wary of looking at them too long. They banter with each other while negotiating over a bag of what looks like trash.
Cigarette smoke burns my eyes. Squinting, I follow Cole through the courtyard and into the building.
Yellow paint chips off the rough-textured wall. It smells like mold, mildew, and stinky feet. A dead body lies propped against the wall inside the doorway. The man’s clothing hangs in tatters, and the bright red tattoo on his neck sags from years of malnutrition. My hand moves to cover my nose and mouth as I gurgle on bile. Before I can look away, a maggot squirms out of his nose.
“Oh my—”
“Get used to it.” Cole shrugs his shoulder.
I’ll never get used to that.
He cracks his knuckles and keeps walking. I’m pretty sure I hit my threshold for gore and my stomach lurches.
The walls, floors, and ceilings are black except for a few remaining yellow splotches. Cole flips on a flashlight and the dim light focuses briefly on a rat as it crawls across our path. I clench my jaw and feel ahead with my hands, guessing where to step next.
“Why is it dark?” I ask.
“Shhhh.”
I hate the dark.
The doors are numbered but completely out of order. My breaths echo in the hallway and I feel like a glass vase falling to the concrete floor about to shatter.
One.
Two.
Three flights. Good. I’m afraid of heights.
One.
Two doors to the right #91116.
Cole unlocks the door, which creaks on its hinges, and gestures me to follow. The darkness prompts him to tug on the delicate chain in the center of the cell. The light intermittently reveals the stacked cinder-block walls that make up my small room. I lean against the door to catch my breath when a spider drops in front of my face, forcing a blood-curdling scream from my lungs.
He slaps his hand over my mouth. “Stop it! Just because you’re behind a locked door doesn’t mean you’re safe.” He pulls his hand away and lowers it to his side.
I nod, fearful of his touch, but more afraid of my new neighbors. He steps back and smashes the spider between his hands.
Breathe, just breathe.
The musty smell makes me cough.
A thin mattress lies in the right corner, nearest to me, but no other furniture exists. A surveillance camera is mounted next to a metal doorway. Rodent droppings line the wall along the left side, and just the thought of their feet skittering over me at night gives me chills. Waves of heat roll over my body and I teeter, accidentally touching the filthy wall. I pull my hand away to discover a thick layer of grime.
“That’s your bathroom,” he says, pointing at the curtain alongside the back right corner. I pull it aside and find a cracked porcelain toilet with a matching sink. The rusted showerhead dangles from the wall, framed in black mold.
Perfect, I can shower and use the restroom at the same time.
“Really, the commander shouldn’t have been so generous.” Bitterness drips from my laugh. I know I shouldn’t mock anything right now, especially in his company, but I feel so overwhelmed I’ve lost the ability to be rational. Cole remains quiet, but something like mischief plays in his eyes.